A 1970s education
Jim studied art O level at school but I dropped the subject as fast as I possibly could. The art teachers, who both had beards and suede shoes, would scribble a title for a painting on the blackboard and then fuck off out of the room. You wouldn't see them again until the end of the lesson.

In their absence the art class would deteriorate into a massive paint fight and I'd usually spend the last ten minutes or so crouched under my desk sheltering from flying paint. The following week you'd turn up and the title for the painting would still be the same. The idle bastards hadn't even bothered to think up a new one.

It was strange to think that at the same school twenty-five years earlier my mum had produced the most wonderful watercolours, but in her day Heaton was a grammar school where teachers followed antiquated teaching practices, like wearing capes and mortar boards, caning pupils for misbehaviour and remaining in the classroom during lessons.

I used my other lessons for art practice, scribbling away in the back of my exercise books instead of paying attention to teachers.

Chris Donald Rude Kids: The Inside Story of Viz (2004)